


can't make any promises

by nobirdstofly



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 04:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14324232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly
Summary: In a private text, Jon has said,Do you need to cancel date night?As she’s trying to figure out how to respond, her gut twisting, he sends,It’s fine if you do, babe. Celebrity exception, right?





	can't make any promises

**Author's Note:**

> aka: emily hooks up with her celebrity crush. ill-advisedly written for [this prompt](https://podsavethekink.dreamwidth.org/659.html?thread=39315#cmt39315) on the kink meme. title from "delicate" by taylor swift. obviously.

Emily does a legitimate double take when she walks through the door. “Holy shit,” she gasps. She feels a little like she’s suffocating. But in a good way. Sitting at the end of the bar in a _gorgeous_ sequin dress is—not maybe but definitely—Taylor fucking Swift. 

She thought she was quiet, but Taylor ( _Taylor_ ) looks in her direction, so maybe her voice carried across the black and white checkered floor. The room is mostly empty, after all. Emily tries to play it cool, smiling in a benign way like she’s just surveying the space. She pulls out her phone as she walks calmly, very calmly, to a stool a safe distance away. 

Waiting for the bartender to get off his own phone, she pulls up her conversation with Jon and Lovett. She doesn’t try to be calm now. _OMG TSWIFT IS IN THIS BAR_. 

_Where???!!!_ Is Lovett’s almost-instantaneous response. 

_Blind Barber._ Emily forces herself to watch her phone and not look over. In her peripheral vision, she can just barely see the flash of Taylor’s dress and blonde hair catching the minimal lights. 

_Why the fuck are you in Culver?_

_It’s date night_. This from Jon, faster than Emily can type. The fact that he doesn’t say anything else speaks to how he trusts Lovett to ask all the questions, and he trusts Emily to tell him. He must know how excited she is, and he’s content to wait for her to be ready. Emily feels a familiar flutter in her stomach, and she wonders at how she hasn’t gotten over that yet. 

_Okay yeah, that’s cute and all, but Culver fucking City?_

_Clearly worth it!_ Emily sends.

Lovett’s answer is a resigned seeming, _Point_. 

“Hey, what can I get you?” 

Emily jumps a little. She’d kind of forgotten about the bartender, about getting a drink. That she was, you know, here for a reason, and not just trying her best not to look sideways at Taylor Swift. She turns over the menu that’s now in front of her in vain. 

“Do you have any reds besides the pinot?” 

The bartender shakes his head. “Nah, sorry.” 

“I guess the chardonnay, then?” 

Suddenly a voice chimes in from Emily’s right. “No, come on. That’s boring.” 

Taylor Swift is talking. To her. Holy fuck. Holy _fuck_. 

“I’m sorry?” Emily says, or tries to say. It probably comes out as more of a squeak. 

Taylor smiles at her. “You’re at a liquor bar, at least have a little fun.” 

Emily’s mouth works and nothing comes out at first. Finally she says, “What’re you having?” 

“Something with gin?” Taylor looks toward the bartender. “I can’t remember what it’s called.”

He smiles, indulgent, and points to a drink on Emily’s menu. She’s never really liked gin, but Taylor Swift is giving her a drink recommendation. 

“Here,” Taylor says, suddenly much closer than she was before. She’s standing next to Emily’s stool, towering over her a little. Emily does her best not to swoon. Taylor’s holding out her glass. “Try it.” 

With shaking hands, Emily takes the drink and carefully sips from the side of the glass. It tastes sweet. Sweet enough to mask the gin. Sweet enough to be dangerous. 

“Good, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Thanks.” Emiles smiles up at her, and she hopes it doesn’t look too deranged. She turns to the bartender, even though it feels like a monumental effort to tear her eyes away from Taylor’s. “I’ll take one of those, thanks.” 

“Put it on my tab,” Taylor says, settling onto the stool next to Emily. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Please, I want to. I’m making you get it, after all.” 

“Okay. Okay, yeah. Thank you.” 

Taylor just smiles, and it’s just as sly and enchanting in real life. On the bar in front of her, Emily’s phone lights up, and there are two messages in quick succession. One from Lovett, and one from Jon. 

“Sorry,” Emily starts, “my uh—” 

“Husband?” Taylor asks, looking at Emily’s ring.

Emily forces herself not to twist it guiltily around her finger. She thinks of trying to explain her and Jon’s complicated relationship with Lovett and gives up. “Yeah. Yeah, but. We…” she trails off. 

“Don’t apologize for that,” Taylor says. Her smile turns wan and she stands up. 

“No!” Emily grabs Taylor’s hand, stopping her. She’s shocked at her own audacity. “Please, don’t go.” 

“No?”

“Please,” Emily says. She lets Taylor go and holds out her hand. “I’m Emily.” 

Taylor sits again and takes her hand. “Taylor,” she says. She pulls Emily in, kissing her cheek breezily. Emily swallows and her fingers tighten. Taylor grins. 

“I, I know,” Emily says. “Look, I know this is very gauche for LA, but I know who you are. Obviously.” 

Taylor swirls her drink. “I figured. Just don’t tell TMZ, okay?” 

“Oh my god, I would never—” 

Taylor laughs, cutting her off. “I was kidding, I promise.”

The bartender sets down Emily’s drink. She thanks him and takes as big a gulp as she can through the tiny straw. 

“Do you need to talk to him?” 

Emily looks down. Her phone is lit up with another message. 

“Oh! Yeah, I probably should. Give me just a second?” 

“Whatever you need.” 

In their group chat, Lovett has sent three texts: 

_Who’s she with?_

And, _Oh my god, can you talk to her?_

And last, _EMILY. TELL ME EVERYTHING._

In a private text, Jon has said, _Do you need to cancel date night?_

As she’s trying to figure out how to respond, her gut twisting, he sends, _It’s fine if you do, babe. Celebrity exception, right?_

Emily’s hands are shaking a little. _Are you sure?_

Jon’s answer of, _Of course_ , is almost instant. _Tell me about it after?_

Emily breathes easier. _Obviously! What are you going to do?_

In the group, Jon texts, _Lovett, I’m coming over_. 

Emily sips at her drink, sneaking glimpses at Taylor. It takes Lovett a little longer. He finally asks, _Celeb cheat list?_

 _Show him a good time_ , Emily sends. _For me?_

She can hear Lovett’s smirk through his words. _Not a problem. I’ll take care of him_. 

Her breath catches all over again, at the thought of Lovett doing just that. Of him pressing Jon down on the couch, or into his mattress. Making him desperate in the way Emily loves. This thing between them all is new. Delicate. She’s surprised by how right it feels, her two boys figuring some of it out on their own. 

She’s only seen them kiss so far, and even that’s been good. Great, even. Jon had knelt over Lovett on the couch, nervous but sure. Then he’d gone boneless, splayed out over Lovett’s thighs. Whining as Lovett sucked on his tongue and clutched at his hip. 

She opens up her conversation with just Jon again. _Tell me, too?_

 _Always_ , Jon says, and Emily smiles. 

To her left, she hears Taylor finish her drink. The suck of a straw against ice and an empty glass. Taylor watches her. Emily turns the smile in her direction. “Let me get this one,” she says, beckoning to the bartender. 

Emily puts her phone away and focuses entirely on Taylor, which is no real feat. She’s mesmerizing, even beyond the dress and some simple, but incredibly hot, Louboutin pumps. She laughs at Emily’s jokes with exuberance, throwing her head back in a way that makes Emily think of Jon. She gestures wildly with her hands when she gets into crazy tour stories, barely saving her glass from tumbling over a few times. 

The polish on one of Taylor’s nails is chipped, and Emily is strangely grateful. It centers her a bit, makes her feel less self-conscious about all of this. The drinks go down easy, thanks to the sugar and Taylor’s smile, and Emily lets her bare thigh press up against Taylor’s. Her heartbeat picks up when Taylor pushes back, smiling into her drink. Emily hasn’t flirted with anyone but Jon in so long, and the intimacy between them makes it monumentally different, but it’s a little like riding a bike. She tilts her head so her hair spills over one shoulder, smiles sharp with her straw in between her teeth, makes sure to look up through her false lashes. 

That one’s not hard. Taylor is so much taller than her, even when they’re both sitting down. Emily can’t help but wonder what the height difference would be like if she’d worn flats for date night instead of the heeled booties she’d picked out. If she’d just come up to Taylor’s shoulder, or even reach that. Even with the heels, she’d have to get on her toes to kiss her, if Taylor didn’t bend to meet her. If Taylor made her work for it. Emily shivers. 

“Cold?” 

“Uh, yeah, a little. Feels like the air just kicked on,” Emily says, making it up as she goes along. She finishes her drink. “Want another one?”

“For sure, but we could go somewhere a little warmer?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m pretty sure my hotel has a bar,” Taylor says. Her smile turns a little predatory. “And my room definitely has a minibar.”

Emily stares at her, at a loss. She can’t believe this is actually happening. 

“Not that we have to. Whatever you want to do,” Taylor backpedals. “We can stay here, too, or you can go home, whatever’s fine. Whatever you want.”

“No, no, that’s. That’s fine. That’s great!” Emily gushes. “I’d like that.” 

“Me too,” Taylor says, and flags down the bartender. She doesn’t let Emily pay at all, and laughs softly when Emily offers to get the Lyft to Beverly Hills. “I have a driver,” she admits. “She can take us. Sorry, I know that’s weird.” 

“It’s pretty fucking cool, actually,” Emily says, startling another laugh out of Taylor. 

In the car, Taylor reaches across the seat between them to touch Emily’s hand, threading her long fingers through Emily’s own. Taylor turns Emily’s hand palm up, unfurling her fingers. She runs her nail lightly across it, and Emily bites her lip.

“Have you ever had your palm read?” 

Emily shakes her head. “Have you?”

Taylor shrugs, but doesn’t answer. “This is your life line,” she says, and traces a finger down toward Emily wrist, then restarts higher up. “This one’s your heart line, and this one your head line.” 

“What do they mean?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know.” Taylor laughs, and Emily can’t help but giggle. “I used to do this at parties in high school, so I could touch the boys I liked. And the girls.” 

Taylor pulls Emily’s hand up so she can lay a kiss against her palm. Emily resists the impulse to undo the seatbelt and crawl into her lap right there. 

The hotel is opulent, and heavy on Old Hollywood charm. Emily’s been here for events, but never in one of the suites. Taylor’s is absurdly large, but beautiful. It even has french doors that seem to lead out to a huge balcony, but Emily barely gets a glimpse before Taylor corners her against the wall as soon as she locks the door. Emily has to tilt her head back to look at Taylor’s face. In the heels, she’s taller than Jon. It makes Emily hot all over. 

Taylor reaches out, slowly enough that Emily could stop her, and brushes Emily’s hair behind her ear before dragging her hand down Emily’s cheek to rest against her collarbone. Emily reaches for Taylor’s hips to pull her in close, the sequins of her dress scratchy against Emily’s hands, but Taylor steps back. She keeps a firm hand on Emily’s chest, holding her lightly to the wall. Emily swallows. 

“I’m going to get out of this dress, and you’re going to call room service. Order champagne and strawberries, or something else ridiculous. Definitely champagne, though. Two bottles.” 

Emily nods. She can do as she’s asked. It might make everything a little easier, actually. 

“Then, I’d like to get my fingers inside you, right here against the wall. If that’s alright?” 

Emily gasps. “Yeah, yeah, that’s. That’s good with me.”

“And it’s good with your husband?” 

“He’s okay. We have a, um, celebrity exception.” Emily feels herself blushing as she says it. 

Taylor smiles. “Good. Leave your dress on. I like it.” 

She turns and walks into the spacious suite, disappearing into another room. Emily leans heavily against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to calm her breathing. She likes this dress, too, quite a lot. Jon hasn’t even seen this dress yet. It has a plunging v-neck and it’s fitted and it’s not like anything else in her closet. She’d gotten it especially for tonight, to surprise him. She suddenly wants to call him and tell him everything. To hear the way he’d moan a little at it all. 

Later, she can do that later. She _will_ do it later, and it’ll be better when she can see his face, touch him. For now, she needs to find the room phone. 

Taylor strolls back in the room as Emily’s thanking the concierge, which is a blessing, because Emily’s mind immediately goes blank when she sees her. She’s still wearing the heels, but the sequin dress is gone, leaving her in a sheer, strappy, sleeveless bodysuit that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Emily wants to know if she’s been wearing it all night. Wants to know if Taylor will let her tongue at her nipples through the thin, satin band just barely covering them.

“Hang up the phone,” Taylor reminds her, smiling. 

Emily does, and it takes her a few tries since she can’t seem to look away. Taylor beckons then leads her back to the door, pushing her gently against the wall next to it again. 

“How long until it gets here?” 

“They said about ten to fifteen minutes.” Emily forces herself to look up and meet her eyes. With their height difference and Taylor’s state of undress, it’s difficult not to stare at her nearly-exposed breasts. They’re small and nice. Really nice. Emily really wants to— 

“Is that enough time?” 

Before Emily can ask for what, Taylor’s hands are at the hem of her dress, pushing it up. She keeps sliding it up until she finds Emily’s other surprise for Jon. 

Taylor chuckles and lifts one of her hands to Emily’s neck, and runs it down the deep V of her dress to where it ends below her sternum. “Are you wearing anything under it at all?” 

“Date night,” Emily explains, her voice breathy. 

Taylor laughs again, kindly, and smooths both hands up Emily’s thighs to her stomach and back down. She leans down so she can whisper into Emily’s ear. “Spread your legs.” 

Emily shivers and does it, so that Taylor can touch her, get a hand in between her thighs. She’d be embarrassed by how wet she already is, since they’ve barely touched, but Taylor makes a soft, pleased sound and slides a finger into her right away. Emily moans. 

“You’ll have to be quick,” Taylor says, into her ear, and slips in a second finger. “Otherwise you’ll have to wait. Do you understand?” 

“Yeah,” Emily breathes, her hips shifting of their own volition to meet the movement of Taylor hand. She reaches out, wants to feel the skin left bare on Taylor’s sides where the body suit is only a ladder of straps.

“Hands on the wall,” Taylor says, with a particularly dirty twist of her fingers. 

Emily whines and obeys. She feels a little cheated, but it’s hard to be too upset right now, not when Taylor’s angling her wrist so she can push in a third finger. 

“Can you come like this? Or do you need me to touch your clit, too?” 

She just barely brushes her thumb along it, and Emily clenches around her fingers. “That, that, yes, _please_.” 

Taylor starts rubbing her thumb in circles, her fingers moving shallower but still curving up once they’re inside. It’s not perfect, but it’s damn near close. She’s good at this, at keeping the rhythm. Emily thinks nonsensically that it’s because she’s a musician, and she huffs out a breathless laugh. 

“Does your husband do this to you? For you?” 

Emily moans and nods, her head knocking back against the wall.

“Is he good at it?” 

“Yes,” Emily gasps out. She can feel herself getting close, her blood rushing.

“Tell me about it.” 

Emily forces her eyes open so she can look up at Taylor. She still looks so calm and put together, but she’s breathing heavier, her chest straining a little against the lingerie with each inhale. _God_ , Emily want to touch her. 

“The other day, at lunch,” Emily says, trying not to trip over her words. “He—he met me at home, and got me off in the kitchen. Like this.”

“In the kitchen?” 

Emily nods, frantic. She can’t stop moving her hips, she’s so, _so_ close. She’s panting between her words. “Against the fridge. I was trying to get out our leftovers, but he slammed the door closed and pushed me against it.” 

Taylor makes a sound that’s almost like a purr. “Not bad. Did he fuck you after?” 

Two things happen at once. There’s a knock on the door, and Emily comes, hard. She tightens around Taylor’s fingers and clenches her teeth so she doesn’t cry out. 

“Room service,” someone calls, muffled through the thick door. 

“Coming,” Taylor calls back, with a smirk at Emily. 

She pulls out her fingers, soaking wet and sticky. She taps them against Emily’s lips, and Emily doesn’t even think of denying her. She opens her mouth and lets Taylor push her fingers against her tongue. Emily sucks on them, cleaning them off as quickly as she can.

Taylor pats her cheek afterward, hand still damp, and smiles proudly. She shrugs into a big, cozy sweater that’s hanging off a nearby couch and opens the door, leaving Emily sagging against the wall. “I can take it, thank you,” Emily hears her say. 

The door shuts again, and Taylor wheels the small cart into the room, complete with two bottles of chilled champagne, fruit, and—

“Oh, chocolate fondue, nice pick!” Taylor says, lifting the lid to the pot. She’s smiling brightly at Emily, excited. She looks young and, for the first time, sweet. “Come on,” she says, wheeling the cart through to the bedroom. 

Emily pulls her dress back down and unzips her booties, her legs shaky. The carpet is thick and plush under her bare feet as she follows. Taylor has thrown open the doors to the balcony, and the coolness of the desert breeze feels good on Emily’s skin. Taylor arranges herself cross-legged on the bed, kicking off her absurdly expensive shoes and tossing the sweater near the pillows. Emily sits beside her, the cart in front of them.

One of the bottles is already uncorked, and Taylor carefully pours out two glasses, passing one over. The flute is heavy, probably real crystal. 

“Cheers!” Emily says, clinking their glasses together, and they’re both giggling when they take their first drink.

They make quick work of the strawberries, pineapple, and grapes, spearing them and dipping them into the warm chocolate. On one pass, Taylor gets too much fondue, and it drips off the fork and onto her wrist, sliding slowly down her arm until she twists her wrist to lap it up carefully with her tongue. 

Emily watches her, her own mouth hanging open, frozen while about to take another drink of champagne. 

“I, um.” Emily takes the drink she had meant to and forces herself to continue. “I’d like to touch you, if that’s okay?” 

Taylor turns to stare at her, a considering look in her eye. After a moment, she nods, as if to herself, and drains the rest of her glass. She scoots back against the pillows, shoves the sweater off the bed, and arranges herself like a queen. She smirks at Emily. “Do your worst.”

Emily hasn’t touched anyone else since she started dating Jon, and it’s been even longer since she’s been with a woman. So she starts where she wants to start, sucking at Taylor’s nipples through the satin, hands wrapping around her slender waist so she can finally touch the skin bared there. Taylor moans softly, and Emily wants to hear more of that as soon as possible.

She kisses and nips her way down Taylor’s body, paying close attention to what makes her shift the most, what makes her sigh and get louder. She spans the top of Taylor’s thighs with her hands and Taylor spreads her legs, one hand coming down to wind in Emily’s hair. On anyone else, it might look wanton, or desperate, but on her it’s studied and self-assured. 

There are tiny, hidden snaps at the bottom of the bodysuit, but Emily slips a finger under the fabric between Taylor’s legs before undoing them. Taylor’s breath catches, and Emily smiles to herself. She runs the back of her finger up and down, over Taylor’s soft skin, knuckle just edging between her folds, bumping against her clit. Taylor’s hand tightens in her hair for a moment.

Emily had been a little worried that Taylor was unaffected, not as into this as Emily was. But when she pops open the snaps, and teases a finger slowly inside her, she finds undeniable proof that Taylor’s just as turned on as she was. As she still is, really. She works her with a finger, steadily in and out, watching Taylor’s face for her reactions.

“Add another,” Taylor says, scratching her nails over Emily’s scalp. 

Emily complies, pleased when Taylor moans. After a little while, Taylor’s hips start hitching toward Emily’s hand, forcing Emily to follow her rhythm. Taylor lifts her head from the pillow and tugs at Emily’s hair, raising an eyebrow and pulling her closer. Emily takes the hint, bringing her other hand up to rest on the inside of Taylor’s thigh, holding her legs apart with that and her opposite shoulder as she leans in to lick at Taylor’s clit. 

The reaction is instantaneous, Taylor’s back arching off the bed as she whines. Emily echoes her and dives back in, moving her fingers faster. She licks and sucks and uses a hint of teeth, mostly just trying to follow along and keep up as Taylor’s hips move. She thinks of what she likes, thinks of Jon between her legs, then moans and keeps going. She laps around her fingers as she drives them in again and again, and licks long stripes from them up to Taylor’s clit. When Taylor starts trembling, a fine thing that seems to start in the hand she now has tight on the back of Emily’s neck, Emily shifts her focus to her clit, sucking hard as she fits in a third finger, letting herself moan more as Taylor gets louder. 

Emily looks up in time to see her pretty face contort as she comes, to see her slam her hand against the bed. She still looks gorgeous, like how Jon does. It’s unfair. Emily works her for a bit longer, until she’s shaking and oversensitive, and then carefully slides her fingers out so she can lick inside, wanting a taste. 

With a heavy sigh, Taylor pushes her way. Emily wipes her mouth and pushes herself to sit up as Taylor does the same, leaning against the headboard. Emily reaches for her champagne flute, drinking the rest of it as she gets her breath back. She cleans her hands off on a napkin.

“Not bad,” Taylor says. She’s smiling, and her voice sounds hoarse. Emily just smiles back. “Should you be getting home?” 

Emily glances at the clock. It’s not even 10pm, but she wants to. She’s still turned on, and she’s buzzing with the need to tell Jon about this. And Lovett, if he’ll listen. “Probably, yeah.”

“Trust me, it’s for the best,” Taylor says, and her smile looks genuine at least. “I’m a nightmare to share a bed with.” 

That startles a laugh out of Emily, and Taylor joins in. Emily gets up, watching avidly as Taylor strips out of the bodysuit. Emily doubts her decision for a minute, thinking about pulling Taylor’s naked body under the covers. About getting her own dress off. She shakes herself out of it as Taylor puts the sweater back on, pulling it tight around her. 

She tilts her chin toward the room service cart. “Mind taking it out with you?” 

“Sure,” Emily says easily. She picks up the ice bucket with the unopened bottle of champagne, making to put it aside. 

“Nah, take it with you,” Taylor says. Then she winks. “Tell your husband thanks.” 

Emily blushes and ducks her head, setting it back down. “I will. You too. I mean, you know what I mean. Thank you.” 

Taylor walks her to the door, waiting patiently as Emily gets back into her shoes. She helps her wheel the cart into the hall, so the hotel staff can pick it up later. 

When Emily’s standing in the doorway, feeling awkward as she holds the champagne and her clutch, Taylor leans forward and reaches for her. The sweater falls open, letting Emily see her bare skin again, and Emily vehemently wishes her hands weren’t full. Taylor frames Emily’s face with her hands and tips it up so she can kiss her, and Emily realizes with a shock they haven’t done this yet. The kiss is deep and a little dirty, but short. 

“I’ll call my driver. She’ll pick you up at the front and take you wherever you need to go.”

“You don’t have to do that.” 

Taylor shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal at all.”

“Well, thank you,” Emily says. “For everything. It was, sorry, I know this is silly after,” she gestures between them, “all that, but it was really awesome to meet you.” 

“You too,” Taylor says, and pulls Emily into a quick hug. “Now get home!” 

Emily feels a little weird walking through the lobby with a bottle of champagne, but no one seems any the wiser. It’s busy this time of night, and it’s easy for her to get lost in the crowd. 

When she gets to Lovett’s and lets herself in, she’s still not sure what she wants to tell them first. Which juicy detail to lead with. The whole car ride she’d been reforming the story in her head, deciding on structure, and absently wishing she wasn’t in love with a pair of writers. She lets herself get lost in petting the dogs in the hall.

“Get in here!” Lovett yells from the living room. “You can’t hold out on me any longer—ow! Us. I’m being told you can’t hold out on _us_ any longer.” 

Emily sighs, takes off her heels, and walks in that direction, unable to put it off any longer. Lovett’s muttering something that sounds like, “Didn’t have to hit me, you asshole,” when she comes into view. They’re both on the couch in t-shirts and sweats, Jon laid out with his legs over Lovett’s lap, Lovett playing some game with the controller on top of Jon’s knees. 

Jon looks half-asleep until he sees her. Then he sits up to get a better look, upsetting Lovett’s gameplay. Lovett grumbles until her turns to her, too. He legitimately whistles. 

“Oh my god,” Jon says faintly. Emily giggles. 

“How could she _not_ try to pick you up when you’re… that,” Lovett says, pausing the game so he can gesture in Emily’s general direction. 

“That fucking hot,” Jon says. “Jesus, babe.” 

Emily laughs again, she can’t help it. She lifts the bottle of champagne. “I brought a present, too.”

“How much did you already have?” Lovett says suspiciously, making room so she can sit between them on the couch. “You only get this giggly when you’re champagne drunk.” 

She doesn’t get a chance to answer because Jon tugs her into a kiss that makes her tingle from head to toe. 

“Hi,” she says softly, when he pulls away. He’s smiling so much his eyes are almost closed, relaxed against the arm of the couch. He’s pliant in the way he only ever is after he’s come at least once. Emily turns to kiss Lovett’s cheek and then the corner of his mouth as he smiles. 

“Can’t believe you let Taylor Swift get your wife drunk, Jon,” he says, and Jon laughs so hard his whole body shakes. 

“Shush, let me tell you what happened,” Emily says, working to pull the cork out of the bottle. Jon watches her, waiting in case she wants any help, but not jumping in until she asks. He always trusts her, always respects her to know what she can do, and what she wants him to do. It’s one of the many, many things she loves about him. 

The cork finally pops out, and she takes a celebratory swig of the champagne before passing it to Lovett. 

“I want to hear what happened here, too,” she says, looking between them. Jon flushes and grins. Lovett just looks smug. 

“Your husband is quite vocal,” he says. _Your husband_. It’s so different coming from Lovett. It has so many more layers, so much more warmth. 

Emily laughs, watching Jon’s shy smile out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, I know. Remind me to tell you about the time we almost got kicked out of our first apartment in DC.” 

“That is not why, Em, oh my god,” Jon protests, his face getting redder. 

“Do tell!”

“Well we lived next door to the landlord, and it was the first time I—” 

“I’m sorry, are we not talking about the fact that my wife hooked up with a celebrity?” Jon asks, his voice embarrassed and high-pitched.

Something about his indignant tone and the words themselves make both Emily and Lovett crack up, and Jon’s always been a reactive laugher. They end up all leaning into each other, tangled up on the couch and laughing until their ribs hurt.

Emily has tears in her eyes when she reaches for the champagne again, taking another drink before passing it to Jon. He takes two long drinks before passing it around her to Lovett. Jon looks so happy, they both do. She settles in between them, crossing her legs and leaning back, so she can look at both of them in turn as she starts talking.

**Author's Note:**

> [hiding out on tumblr](http://no-birdstofly.tumblr.com) if you need me.


End file.
